“We might as well go then. There’s nothing more for us here.”
“Apart from a cloud of slate dust,” she said, looking down into the quarry.
We got back into the car and headed back out onto the road. Almost as soon as we pulled out of the gate the car’s inbuilt satnav said rather grumpily, “Are you aware that this isn’t the way that you came?”
“Yes I am aware of that,” I told it equally grumpily.
Though most people will tell you it’s your imagination, and certainly enough people have told me the same, I am certain to my core that the interaction systems of satellite navigation units have a cynical outlook on life programmed in at the base level. If not, then they certainly pick it up after a short time of having their carefully computed advice ignored by drivers who apparently know better.
“Well I’m not,” Miranda commented.
“Would you like to input a new destination?” the satnav enquired, the neutral voice edged with a very possibly imaginary waspish tone.
“If I had wanted to do that then I would have done it,” I pointed out, not able to keep my own tone even remotely neutral.
“Is that a no?” the device enquired with what I believed to be a mischievous inflection.
“Miranda, could you take a look in the glove compartment and see if there is way of manually disengaging the satnav permanently?” I said by way of response.
The satnav remained quiet, but the screen glowered at me in a sulky manner as it displayed the road snaking over the Welsh hills ahead.
“Would you care to enlighten me as to where we are going?” Miranda asked, making no attempt to look for a handbook in the glove compartment or anywhere else.
“It’s a surprise,” I told her.
“Will I like it?” she asked
“Do you like surprises?” I countered.
“Usually I do.”
“Then you’ll like it.” I promised her.
Virginal Airships UK 57
“Well I like this,” Miranda said excitedly as the streets of Pontypridd sank beneath us to dissolve into a glowing network of shining orange filaments strung out between the rapidly darkening surrounding hills. Since the Pontypridd and Caerphilly International Airship Terminal is located on the top of the hill that separates the two towns, we were treated to vistas over the two clusters of golden threads linked by the fine shining filaments that are the streetlit A470 and A4054. The regeneration that Wales’ third largest airship terminal had brought to the previously rundown twin towns meant that there was a lot of activity with lights racing along the shining filaments in all directions. It was the prettiest thing that I’d seen in the country (with the exception of the girl that I had brought along for the ride) and that was saying something considering that the countryside that we had passed through between the quarry and the terminal had rarely been less than stunning.
“It’s something I could certainly get used to,” I agreed, sipping the complimentary sparkling wine that was actually better than most champagnes and came from a noted vineyard in the wine region of Bristol (the much favoured southern slopes). It certainly commanded a price that was somewhat higher that the average Moet on the airship menu. Nothing about the trip that we were taking was cheap. There was a section at the rear of the gondola (that being the correct name for the cabin area slung under an airship according to the company literature, despite the lack of anyone with a pole, wearing a straw hat or singing about Cornettos) for the cheaper, though still nicely appointed, seats but the forward area was for those who were willing and able to pay a bit (quite a bit actually) more. The Agency credit card took care of the last minute reservations and the cost of a dinner that probably would have covered my catering expenses for a month in normal circumstances.
As the dirigible reached its minimum cruising altitude, it swung gently around and forged ahead in a direction that I assumed was eastwards. As we had climbed up the stairs into the gondola there had been a steady breeze blowing across the airfield that had sprung up as evening fell, but the cabin felt as steady and secure as my living room despite the strings of light wheeling majestically across the dark landscape beyond the window. There was barely a tremble to be felt through the table as we sampled the sole meuniere’s excellent brown butter sauce.
It certainly beat a Polish takeaway.
The last remnants of the sunset swept out of sight behind us as the airship straightened its course and only the slightest increase of vibrations signified that the propellers had been cranked up to full.
“Are all your investigations this glamorous?” Miranda asked, sitting back to take in the whole of the cabin in all its over decorated splendour.
I considered squid gods in run-down warehouses, mutant alligators in major metropolitan sewer systems and Morecambe Bay’s sludge banks before answering, “Almost never.”
“It seems like an awful amount of money to be spending on a missing person case,” she commented idly, running her finger around the rim of the crystal flute with its Bristolian non-champagne contents.
“This has gone far beyond a missing persons case and I think you are well aware of that,” I said, deciding that this was as good a time and place to put her on the spot as any other. At least here there were fewer exits and they all led downwards.
“What do you mean by that?” she queried, but I wasn’t buying her innocent act any longer.
“I mean that you’re no country ingénue out of her depth in the big, bad city, so I would appreciate it if you could drop the little girl lost routine,” I told her, a little more harshly than I had intended.
Instead of being upset or offended, she smiled wryly and agreed, “All right. It’s cards on the table time I take it?”
“I should let them clear the plates away first,” I tried to joke. “Let’s start with you telling me everything that you know about your brother’s kidnapping that you’ve been keeping from me.”
“I don’t know anything more about it than I have told you,” she raised a hand to stop me from interrupting, “and that is the truth. I did have some idea that Arnie was in some sort of trouble before he disappeared, but it was only a feeling, an impression that I got from talking to him. Nothing concrete. He seemed distracted, distant, restless and not in the usual way he gets just before he throws his whole life in the air. Normally, he gets excited and talks about places he’d like to go, people he’d like to meet and things he’d like to see. It wasn’t like that. He was a bit too quiet, a bit … oh I don’t know. Flat, I suppose is the word.”
“The influence of the Siren,” I suggested.
“I guess now that’s what it was, but I couldn’t know that at the time and he wouldn’t tell me anything. When I asked him if everything was OK, he just said yes and wouldn’t talk about it any further.”
We both fell silent whilst the waiters stripped away the used tableware and replaced it with a couple of fine china cups containing a particularly excellent Brazilian coffee. I doubted that I could go back to Costa Del Coffee anytime soon without a sense of deep disappointment.
“Then let’s talk about the police,” I said after the waiters had once again retreated to a discreet distance. I felt comfortable talking here since the lateness of the booking meant that nobody would have had time to wire up the dining room with listening devices.
“I never spoke to them,” she admitted. “I lied to you about that.”
“I know.”
“You knew?” she was surprised. “Why didn’t you say something or just throw me out on my ear?”
“I wouldn’t want to damage those ears,” I said, since we were being honest with each other. “Besides which, I was curious as to why you thought that the Agency might be even remotely interested in finding your brother.”
“I knew that the police wouldn’t be interested in finding Arnie,” she finished her coffee and sat back in the comfortable seat, fixing me with her intense gaze, “and I was honest with you about all the reasons why in that rath
er quaint little pub that you took me to. They would have insisted on waiting a few days at least in case he showed up again, but I was sure that he wasn’t going to show up again. So I came to the Agency.” She smiled at a memory. That might have explained why she hadn’t gone to the police and it might not, but someone had shown up at Arnie’s house claiming to be police and taking his computer. Though I hadn’t said anything, at the time, that had been when I had first started to suspect that there really was reason for the Magic Circle to be interested in Arnie and that his sister might be being less than completely truthful with me. “You know I had a whole plan worked out, everything that I was going to say, the exact point at which to cry, everything. Then you showed up and I didn’t need to use any of it. You just took me at my word and started to investigate.”
Which, in hindsight, might have been a mistake on my part.
“So you were willing to try and dupe the Agency into finding your brother on account of a feeling that something was wrong with him?” I must have sounded pretty sceptical because her smile slipped a little.
“There was one other thing that I didn’t tell you,” she looked out into the night, not willing to meet my eyes at that point.
“Only one?” I kept the sceptical tone. It was serving me well.
“Arnie rang me up a couple of nights before I came to you,” she said and her demeanour had turned serious as the memories became less pleasant. “At least I’m pretty sure that it was him, but he was in a bad way and the mobile reception was terrible.”
“ ‘A bad way’?” I prompted.
“Drunk,” she said, scowling as if the word left a bad taste on her tongue. “Which is surprising since Arnie never drinks.”
“Never?” I challenged her.
“Almost never and definitely never to excess. A glass of champagne at a wedding if he was pressed,” she confirmed, “but that night he could barely speak, slurring his words and sounding like he didn’t have complete control over his own mouth.”
That sounded a lot to me like a man who was fighting against a Siren’s influence and had heard that their song is dulled by drink. Alcohol does affect the parts of the brain that the Siren’s song attacks and so being drunk enough can lessen the hold that the creature has over someone who has been affected. The downside is that the victim has to be falling down drunk to reach a point where the control is loosened enough to do anything about it by which time they are incapable of doing anything about it.
“What did he say?”
“Just two words,” she murmured. “ ‘Help me’. That’s why I can’t even be one hundred percent sure that it was him, because of the drink and the fact that he only said those words, but I am certain that it was him all the same. I tried to call him back, but he didn’t answer his phone and he has never owned a mobile.”
“You told me that,” I reminded her.
“Oh yes, so I did,” and this time her smile seemed to be at a memory that was genuinely remembered with fondness.
“And the little girl lost act?” I pressed her. “Why was that necessary?”
“Because you’re you,” was the surprising response. She went on to elaborate, “You’re a strong man with a real sense of himself. It’s not arrogance, just you. You think of yourself as a bit of a hero, which I suppose you might be considering what it is that you do, so I gave you a damsel in distress to protect and look after. I didn’t think you could resist that. I’m sorry.”
It was my turn to sit back into my comfortable seat and I considered her properly for the first time, looking beyond the good looks and the body that just wouldn’t quit. I was impressed by what I saw, even more impressed than I had been at the way she looked. “Don’t be,” I told her, “You were right, and it worked. But I won’t be underestimating you again.”
“Or trusting me?” she asked and there was a sad undertone of genuine regret in her voice.
“Not any time soon,” I agreed, “but I shouldn’t beat yourself up about that. Trust issues are a part of the job.”
“Still, I suppose that we wouldn’t have even uncovered this … whatever this is had my brother not managed to give me a ring…”
And then I realised what I had been missing all along. I had seen them, had even noticed them, but I hadn’t connected them together until now.
“Give you a ring,” I repeated as my mind flashed through the obviousness of it all. “Wedding rings!”
“Wedding rings?” Miranda queried and then added with a flash of her previous ready wit, “Well I think that it’s a bit premature for that. Perhaps buy me dinner first? Oh, you did that already.”
“Everyone’s been wearing wedding rings,” I quickly explained. That kind of misunderstanding could be embarrassing and difficult to get out of, so I wasn’t going to dwell on it. “Helliman was wearing one, Cynthia Traske was wearing one and so was her husband. I’ll be willing to bet that the Siren was wearing one too.”
“Which means that they were all married?” Miranda asked, not making the connections that I was. “Is that significant?”
“No, it means that there was something significant about those rings and I need to get a look at them, well the ones that we still have anyway. Excuse me.”
This time I had no compunction about leaving her sat at the table and making my way through the state room corridors to the doors that were marked with very official STAFF ONLY signs. These were locked tight with code keypads, but a buzz on the intercom got me through into the crew areas as soon as I identified myself. A uniformed officer arrived abruptly and at a run, intercepting me and guiding me through to the bridge, which turned out to be one of the smallest rooms in the gondola. The pilot was controlling the ship with a steering column that seemed ridiculously small in comparison to the overall size of the ponderous craft. The Captain and the First Engineer were sat alongside, scanning the sky for any possible threats. For the most part, being part of an airship’s bridge crew is uninteresting, dull work and that iss the way that they like it. When it turns interesting it is usually because the balloon has been punctured and the rest is plummeting to the ground like the intricate framework of heavy metal that it is.
“Captain Archer,” the man introduced himself, standing up to meet me as I entered, not least because there wasn’t really room enough for more than the three seated people in the room. He guided me back into the corridor outside and thanked the junior officer who gratefully disappeared back to his duties. “What is it exactly that I can do for you?”
“I need to speak to my headquarters immediately,” I told him, “and since the use of mobiles is forbidden…”
“Just through here,” he understood immediately and took me into another small room that was graced with only a single chair. “I can patch you through to the tower at Oxford and they can link you into the phone network.”
I shook my head emphatically, “No, this can’t go through the open network. I need to use my own phone.”
“That’s more tricky,” he said thoughtfully, “and it can’t wait?”
“No, I don’t think that it can.”
“All right, follow me.” He took me back down the length of the crew area and then stopped in front of the door that led through to the passenger cabins. Reaching up, he released a catch on the ceiling and a trapdoor fell open, dropping a ladder down with it. With a practised hand, the Captain caught the ladder and locked it into place.
“Exactly where are you taking me Captain?” I enquired as he started to climb into the area above.
“The dead spot,” he informed me as his rather expansive posterior disappeared through the hole. “The only place on the boat where you can safely use your phone.”
It is a curious thing that airship crews refer to their airborne craft as ‘boats’, but then they are more akin to ocean-going liners than any other form of air travel.
I followed the Captain and emerged inside the airship’s great envelope (again I only knew the correct term because of the information lea
flet I had skimmed). Thin steel girders ran the length of the airship and criss-crossed in all manner of directions, giving the balloon its structural integrity whilst surrendering as little weight as possible. The gas that kept the whole thing aloft was held in huge clear plastic cells, ensuring that a puncture in one place did not leak out the entire gas supply of the vessel. It would take a catastrophic failure of several of the cells to create a situation that the bridge crew would term ‘interesting’. Of course, that was exactly what had happened to the sea going liner Olympic.
The Captain led me along a narrow walkway to a ladder that rose through the geometric centre of the envelope. It seemed to go up a long way. Beyond the canvas sheath, the wind was surprisingly loud considering the quiet of the dining lounge.
“Up you go,” the Captain indicated the top of the ladder.
“What?”
“The top of the ladder is the spot on the boat that is the furthest from any of the main electrical and electronic systems and the only place that is safe to use your phone without causing disruption. It’s either there or when we land. Your choice.”
“OK,” I said uncertainly and started up.
“Oh and watch out for static discharge,” the Captain called after me. “It can be a bitch.”
I climbed the ladder at a steady pace and finally arrived at a small platform that sat at the top of the main envelope and was covered by a small bump in the outer surface. There was barely room to sit upright and it was obvious that this was designed for emergency use only. Crawling uncomfortably into the space, and keeping an eye for electrically-charged elementals that would love to set up home in steelwork lattice like this, I dialled the office.
“How may I direct your call?” was the polite response this evening.
The Man From U.N.D.E.A.D. - the Curious Case of the Kidnapped Chemist Page 15